


lips like the galaxy's edge

by Kittendiamore



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: M/M, Space AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 18:11:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13370313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittendiamore/pseuds/Kittendiamore
Summary: The Personal Escort Treaty - or P.E.T. - system was put in place for rich and lonely travellers to hire companions and assistants for extended periods of time. It was originally intended as a way to combat the negative mental health effects of continuous solitude that is common in anyone stuck in a spaceship without human contact.Berenger needs a P.E.T., Ancel is more than happy to oblige.





	lips like the galaxy's edge

“I must say, Berenger, that we thought any hope of achieving your patronage was useless,” Radel says, leading them into the viewing room. 

The entire ship is a burnished silver, but this room burns the brightest of them all. At a gesture from Radel, the ship’s AI dims the lights to a dark glow, and then Berenger is being brought to the podium in the centre. It’s easier to view the holograms in less lit environments. Berenger wonders idly whether the initial brightness of the room is to disorient customers, to make the holograms seem more appealing to the offended retinas viewing them. 

“Here, I’ll call up the first companion,” Radel says, touching the screen on the podium. In front of them, a hologram is lit up - the image of a young boy with wavy curls and a shy smile. “When you’re ready to view the next calling card, just tap here.”

Berenger nods, and replaces Radel at the centre of the podium. The Personal Escort Treaty - or P.E.T. - system was put in place for rich and lonely travellers to hire companions and assistants for extended periods of time. It was originally intended as a way to combat the negative mental health effects of continuous solitude that is common in anyone stuck in a spaceship without human contact. It has devolved, Berenger thinks privately, into something not much better than a brothel. People of low moral fibre were happy enough to confuse the contracts of their P.E.T.’s into something that resembles sexual servitude. It would be a blessing for the entire system to be destroyed.

Berenger touches the screen and calls up the next hologram - the moving image of a brunette, their skirt only just reaching the top of their thighs. Next. Next. Next. He doesn’t know exactly what he’s looking for, he’d had the bizarre impression earlier that he’d know when he saw them. Someone who can handle his mission. Someone he won’t have to spend more time than necessary with. Next.

He almost flinches. This one is a boy, perhaps twenty, and unlike every other companion so far - he’s looking directly at Berenger. The boy must have known exactly where to look when his image was being filmed, to make it look like he can see the viewer. Most P.E.T.’s attempt at a coy personality. This one is anything but.

His bright red hair falls straight to the middle of his chiffon-enveloped chest. He isn’t smiling. His expression would almost be neutral if it weren’t for his eyes. His eyes are presenting a challenge, daring the viewer to be good enough for him. Berenger glances down at the screen, where his profile has appeared.

_ Ancel. Age 20. Birth Planet: Undisclosed. Identity: Male. Price: 30,000,000 credits per month. _

He’s obscenely expensive, especially considering he can only have been working for two years so far. The P.E.T system’s age laws are strict, courtesy of Commander de Vere’s petitioning. The companions are also given an option to write their own biography for the profile, another way of tempting buyers. Most are at least a paragraph. Ancel’s is two words:  _ Try me _ . 

“I’ll take him,” Berenger says. “Give him two days to prepare his things.”

 

-

The door to Berenger’s  _ locked  _ quarters slides open right as the designated sleeping hours commence. There’s no day or night in space, just the ship’s own set of rigid designated times, depending on the captain’s preferences. Clad in a short, silk, emerald coloured robe, Ancel steps into the room and hits the control panel to close the door after him. The lock clicks back into place.

Ancel somehow manages to look taller in person, although he’s about a head shorter than Berenger himself. His hair looks brighter, as well. 

“That was locked,” Berenger says.

“I know,” Ancel says. “But I had hoped the rules might be different for me. I could hardly contain my excitement when I found out who had bought me.” He takes a deliberate - barefoot, he must be freezing the room’s regulated temperature, everything runs cold in space - step towards Berenger. The left side of his robe falls to reveal one creamy white shoulder. It looks accidental. Berenger highly doubts that it is.

Berenger swivels his desk chair so that he’s facing Ancel, still seated. “I gave you two days to prepare your things.”

“I know,” Ancel says, and then with a seductive grace that will haunt Berenger for the rest of his days, Ancel drops to his knees and  _ crawls  _ towards him. “I thought,” Ancel says, when he’s almost close enough to reach out and touch Berenger’s ankles, “you could help me decide what to bring. I want to know what you like. Do you like my robe?” He looks up through thick auburn eyelashes.

Berenger feels too wrong-footed to respond. He’s never dealt one on one with a companion before, he hadn’t imagined it would be like this.

Ancel tilts his head. Takes Berenger’s silence as a denial. “No?” Ancel asks. He puts his hands on Berenger’s knees. “Then you can take it off.”

The touch is enough to restart Berenger’s mind. He stands, suddenly, and Ancel pulls back in surprise. He walks around him and back to the door, opens it. “That isn’t necessary,” he says. “Pack whatever you want. I’ll get you more things if the need arises. You should get some sleep.”

Ancel is looking at him, still on the floor, in wide-eyed shock. It’s the expression of someone who has never been turned down before. If he hadn’t been a part of a morally degraded system, Berenger probably wouldn’t have turned him down either. 

“Okay,” Ancel says, collecting himself. He stands, rearranges his robe. “You’re right, it’s late.” He stops in front of Berenger when he’s at the door, and looks right into his eyes. They’re green. He’s very close. “I’m looking forward to all the moments we’ll spend together.”

 

-

Two days later, the contract is signed and Ancel is Berenger’s for the next six months. He’d only wanted three, but apparently Ancel was well desired enough to demand a minimum time frame. Berenger is beginning to believe that this is going to become a lot more trouble than it’s worth. 

Ancel boards Berenger’s ship decked in a voluptuous layer of crimson velvet. His faux-fur capelet is pinned with a polished ruby brooch. His boots are knee high and slightly heeled. “What do you think?” he says.

Berenger looks at him. “We’ll be travelling without breaks for the next few weeks. You’re free to dress as comfortably as you like, I’ll be the only person seeing you.”

“Oh,” Ancel says, beginning to smile.

“That wasn’t an invitation for you to undress.”

Ancel pouts.

 

-

“Where are we going, then? Are you spiriting me away to a remote planet that you can be the first human to fuck someone on?”

“Vask,” Berenger says.

Ancel looks alarmed. “I don’t fuck women,” he says. “Or other species. It says that in my contract.”

Vaskians are one of the few known alien species that have a humanoid form. They were discovered by the famous Intergalactic Explorer Damianos, who... subsequently  _ discovered  _ that Vaskian and human DNA was compatible in creating offspring. The Vaskians, who seem to place a lot of value on physical strength, were so pleased in the resulting children that they offered a treaty to the entire human race.

“No,” Berenger says. “I don’t want you to do that either. I’m in negotiations with a settlement to procure a type of native soil protein that I hope will benefit the- Anyway, I’ve been informed that the Vaskians are less likely to request certain services if the person is already spoken for.”

Ancel is quiet for a moment. He isn’t looking at Berenger. “So you need me to be your companion, so that the Vaskians don’t ask you to fuck them in exchange for some dirt?”

“...Essentially, yes.”

“Oh,” Ancel says. “You must be very rich to be willing to waste your money like this.”

 

-

The first evening, Ancel uses the Nutrient Creation Unit to form a serving of plain toast for dinner. Berenger is shocked at the choice, the Unit is one of the latest models and able to create an almost limitless amount of food products, and Ancel has chosen toast.

The second evening, Ancel chooses a salad made entirely of different varieties of lettuce.

The third evening, Berenger walks into the dining room to see Ancel looking mournfully at a plate full of pickled herring.

“Ah,” Berenger says. “You don’t know how to use the unit.”

Ancel’s cheeks turn a very pretty red. “I have a different model to this.”

“The basic controls to the models have been the same for the last eight years,” Berenger says. “Yours must be very outdated.”

The red is spreading down his neck and disappearing into his cashmere scarf. He’s so pale, Berenger wouldn’t be surprised if the red continued across his entire chest.

“Yes, well,” Ancel says, affecting a tone that’s belied by his rosy hue. “Jewels and silks I have plenty of. Most lovers don’t think to give me anything practical.”

“You’re very expensive,” Berenger insists. “You should be able to buy one yourself.”

“Royalties,” Ancel replies. “My initial agreement with Radel is heavily in his favour. Once I’ve made a name for myself and it comes time to resign it, I’ll be able to negotiate a better deal.”

“I see,” Berenger says, even though he doesn’t really. “I’ll teach you how to use the unit.”

 

-

The next three weeks of travel move into a quiet kind of companionship that’s surprisingly nice. Berenger checks their course after the sleep cycle, and makes any adjustments necessary, and then joins Ancel for a late breakfast. Ancel always rises late, despite not having much to do during his nights, as he expounds frequently. He also always dresses elaborately, even for his audience of one.

He eats cake for breakfast, or pastries, or pain perdu heaped with maple syrup and mascarpone. Despite his appalling diet, Ancel is a dedicated jogger, so after breakfast they go to the exercise area to work out together. 

They shower, separately despite Ancel’s protestations, and spend the rest of the day either working (Berenger) or making online shopping lists (Ancel). Berenger tells Ancel about his soil programs for sustainable fresh produce in space, and Ancel calls him boring (but he always listens to every word and never interrupts, saving his comments to the end). 

In return, Ancel shows off his childhood learnt acrobatics and talks about his surprisingly encyclopedic knowledge of fashion and also scandals in the upper classes of society. Eventually, he stops attempting to seduce Berenger. Oddly, this doesn’t stop the elevation in Berenger’s heart rate whenever he sees his companion, sleepy eyed or laughing or talking with passion.

 

-

The door to Berenger’s private quarters opens to reveal Ancel waiting out the front.

“Couldn’t break in this time?” he asks.

“No,” Ancel says, pouting. “I don’t know this ship as well as I do Radel’s. You wake up too early.” 

“Early is a planetary concept. I wake up at the end of the designated sleep cycle.” 

Ancel is still pouting. His eyes are barely open and he’s wrapped in what is either an oversized cloak or a faux mink blanket. His hair is slightly ruffled, rather than in its usual sleek perfection. He looks adorable, and luxurious and like he needs to be bundled into a bed and held while he oversleeps for a few more hours.

“I want to learn about plotting courses,” Ancel says. “Once I make enough money, I’m going to buy my own ship.”

Berenger can’t help but smile. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll teach you.”

After that, they spend just about every waking hour together. Ancel always tries to learn and listen patiently but sometimes the lack of sleep is too much for him and he falls asleep in Berenger’s captaining chair. Berenger never has the heart to wake him, so sometimes he’ll just sit down and look at the stars while he waits. 

 

-

The planet of Vask is an impressive one. Her inhabitants are more technologically advanced than humans, but they also place a great importance on nature. There are whole cities that live in trees, or completely underground in man-made cave-like structures. The planet is a matriachy, and so the tribe that Berenger meets with is almost entirely female. 

His electronic translator makes the discussions a breeze, and the women seem to find Ancel’s forward personality charming. Eventually, the women agree to a trade - their soil proteins for a few samples of some of First Earth’s native plants. Afterwards, as is their tradition, they invite Berenger and Ancel to a banquet of sorts.

Night falls onto their part of the planet, and with it the banquet begins. Fires are lit in torches, the flames blue and apparently running on some kind of fuelless system that Berenger is considering asking about but also sure is completely beyond his understanding. Food, amazing delicacies the likes of which he’s never seen, gets brought out and then there’s dancing and talking and a general air of celebration. 

Berenger is talking to one of the women, Aenit, when Ancel reappears from wherever he’d disappeared to and drops himself sideways into Berenger’s lap. His first and second instincts are to pull him closer and to push him away. He’s unsure which order they come in. He then considers that Ancel might be drunk, or overwhelmed, or tired, and decides to let him stay where his is.

“Is everything okay?” Berenger asks, quietly.

Ancel leans so that his mouth is very close to Berenger’s ear. He can feel the whisper of lips against his cheekbone.

“They’re discussing whether or not we’re a couple,” Ancel murmurs. “Apparently, Vaskian pairings are quite the exhibitionists, so they aren’t sure.”

“Ah,” Berenger says. He thinks he’s going to say something else as well, but Ancel is turning his head then their lips are touching. Ancel kisses him, closed mouth and too quick for him to respond.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Ancel says, and there’s something oddly mournful in the tone. Berenger feels every word in his lips. His hands are around Ancel’s waist, an act he doesn’t remember. “These women fuck like rabbits, they’ll know a passionless kiss when they see one.”

Berenger is moving forward before he can think about it, and this time when he captures Ancel’s mouth, he puts in all the feeling that their first kiss had been missing.  _ I’ll show you passion _ , he thinks, and the thought feels self-destructive.

Ancel puts his hands on Berenger’s shoulders and pushes. He lets the motion knock him to lie on the ground and Ancel manages to gracefully straddle him. He kisses with the soft confidence of experience, but also a persistence that feels like he’s trying to use his mouth to stop Berenger from forming the thoughts needed to stop this. It feels like he wants it.  _ This _ , Berenger reminds himself,  _ is why he is so expensive _ . 

Ancel bears down on him, pulls back long enough for their eyes to meet - one beautifully immersive second of brown into green - and then he’s kissing Berenger’s jaw. Messy little kisses are dotted across his face as if Ancel can’t decide where he best wants to be. Berenger has a hand in that soft, red hair that he didn’t actively move. His body has taken control of itself to beckon for more of Ancel.

Ancel cups his face and then is kissing his mouth once more. Their tongues touch. A supernova is going off in Berenger’s mind. Then Ancel grinds his hips forward and Berenger is suddenly in danger of other things deciding to go off. He has to stop this. 

He rolls them. Ancel lands on his back and looks up at Berenger in shock before he grab his neck and pulls him back down. He has to stop this. Ancel wraps his legs around his hips, forcibly uses the strength of them to tug Berenger into falling, his weight pressed against Ancel.

Ancel moans and it sounds so real that Berenger wants to convince himself that it is. He cannot. That level of self-delusion, that level of temptation is too much for him to allow. He gets a hold of Ancel’s wrists and pushes them into the dirt. Ancel makes a noise of agreement that turns into dismay when Berenger pushes himself up, pulls them apart.

Ancel’s cheeks are flushed. “It’s okay,” he says. “It’s okay, they don’t mind. They do it in front of each other all the time.”

There are no words for how badly he wants. “We should go back to the ship,” he says, as steadily as possible.

“Yes,” Ancel agrees, readily. He probably wants this charade to end as soon as possible, Berenger thinks.

They make it back to the ship quickly, the Vaskians seem amused by the hasty departure rather than offended. When they’re inside, Ancel turns to face him, presses his back against the wall in the dimly lit hallway, eyes wide.

Berenger doesn’t know what to say. He feels like a ship with its fuel line cut, desperately hoping to be fixed before it’s left to float aimlessly in space. He can imagine what would happen next - taking Ancel into his arms, into his bed. He thinks of red hair splayed on his beige pillow cases, the way that Ancel would bring colour into his quarters (into his life) like no-one else ever has. It’s a path that he cannot allow himself to take. Services rendered.

“Thank you,” he settles for saying, “for your help.”

Ancel’s expression closes off. It’s cold in the ship, freezing in comparison to the warmth of the Vaskian climate. “Of course,” Ancel says. “You should get some sleep.”

 

-

He doesn’t sleep.

 

-

The next morning, they say goodbye to the Vaskian women and Ancel is as charming as ever. Berenger tries not to notice the inches of distance between them. He tries to remind himself that’s it has always been like this, that he doesn’t want the distance to close.

 

-

The gap is a little less painful by the time they get back into human territory. It’s more like a slowly bleeding wound than a severed artery. It’ll take time and effort, but he’ll be able to stitch himself back up. Probably.

A message comes through the main console, a soft light blinking at him. It’s entirely text.

_ I see you’re in the area. Come see me. It’ll be like old times - Commander Laurent de Vere. _

He doesn’t know what the ‘old times’ part means. He only met Laurent once, where he’d commended him on his work reforming several systems - including the P.E.T one.  It was long enough to get an impression of him - witty but with the potential to destroy. 

Berenger looks at the location of the message. It isn’t Arles - the sister planet to Varenne - where Laurent hails from, but Toutaine. Toutaine is one of the poorest planets in the region, the kind of place where it would be rare to see proper spaceships like Berenger’s. His is the largest, most advanced vessel that can be controlled by one person. It cost more than the planet probably has in its entire economy. 

 

-

“We’re making a stop,” Berenger says, over breakfast. Ancel missed their morning captaining lesson, as he has been doing since Vask.

“Where?” 

“Toutaine.”

Ancel drops his fork. “Why?” he says, sounding absurdly angry.

“Business matters,” Berenger says. If they’re meeting somewhere so remote, he doubts de Vere wants people to know where he is.

Ancel looks unsettled. He looks down at his plate, blinking rapidly. “Okay,” he says. “I don’t-” he cuts himself off, closes his eyes. When he starts speaking again, each word sounds like it’s being forced deliberately out of his mouth. “I know that you don’t find me...pleasing, but surely there is something I can do to convince you to fulfill our contract.”

“What?” Berenger says, not understanding.

Ancel laughs. He sounds anything but amused. “Anything,” he says. “I’ll do anything. Just don’t end our contract. Don’t send me back there.” Ancel opens his eyes and looks right at him. It’s almost the same look he’d had when Berenger had rolled him over on the dirt in Vask. “Please.”

“I don’t understand,” Berenger says.

“You told Radel that you don’t want the rest of my contract,” Ancel says. “He probably made it sound like a good thing for you to leave me in Toutaine, but it isn’t. He won’t collect me from there, he’ll abandon me to rot. It’s what he does to those that don’t finish their agreements.”

“No,” Berenger says, horrified. “No, I haven’t spoken to Radel, I don’t- surely that’s not legal?”

“Why are you taking me home then?”

“I have to meet someone there,” Berenger says. “You were born on Toutaine?”

“Yes,” Ancel replies. He looks away. “That’s why my contract with Radel was so terrible. It took a lot of persuasion and credits to get myself out of that shithole. I have to pay Radel back before I can start making any actual credits.”

 

-

When they land, Ancel storms into Berenger’s room and then tears through his wardrobe. 

“What are you doing?”

“This planet is a veritable dust storm.  _ My  _ clothing will get ruined.”

He ends up stealing a pair of sturdy boots - a size too big - and a hooded jacket from Berenger. Added to a pair of his own dark pants and a plain undershirt, Ancel is completely unadorned. He looks handsome. He scowls when he catches Berenger looking at him, arms crossing self consciously.

“Don’t worry,” Berenger says, dryly. “You’re attractive no matter what you wear.”

“That means a lot coming from you,” Ancel says, in a tone that implies the opposite.

 

-

It turns out that Ancel wasn’t exaggerating when he called Toutaine a dust storm. The planet is covered entirely with a layer of haze, making everything take on a yellow glow. Some planets don’t terraform as well as others - this one is essentially very dry and very difficult to grow any sustainable crops on. The people must live in a near constant state of malnutrition. Berenger is already thinking of ways he can use his research to help places like this grow proper crops.

They meet Laurent in a tavern, a dirty building that has maybe two other customers in it. One of whom is either passed out in a drunken stupor or dead.

Laurent stands when he sees Berenger, and when Ancel sees Laurent, he casts Berenger a betrayed look.

“You came,” Laurent says, shaking Berenger’s hand and inviting him to sit down.

“I did,” Berenger agrees. “This is Ancel.”

Laurent casts him a quick look. He seems a lot less controlled than the last time Berenger saw him, almost nervous. “Yes, hello,” he says, then he turns back to Berenger. “That’s nice. I’m glad you found someone.”

“Is everything okay?” 

“No,” Laurent says. “Remember when we met and you said, that if I ever needed anything…”

“I remember,” Berenger says. Laurent’s brother, Auguste de Vere, had gone missing in space the year before. Rumour was it that Laurent was taking it badly. It happens sometimes to Intergalactic Explorers. Going to places no other man has been is a dangerous career path.

“Right. Well, normally I wouldn’t call on someone for a favour that was really just politeness, but this is important and also my last hope.”

“What do you need?”

“You know that explorer, the one they made that stupid show about?” 

“Damianos Akielos,” Berenger says, making the sudden connection. Damianos had been announced missing in space about a month ago. “Come to think of it, he-”

“His last known contact was made in a location close to where Auguste disappeared. It’s uncharted space, so the military refuses to do anything about it, but I found some connections who had some connections and it turns out there’s an  _ undiscovered  _ planet in the area. Technologically inferior to us, but brutal enough to give us a run for our money. I’ve managed to make a few transmissions to a group of the planet’s inhabitants and I think I can… I think Auguste might be there. Alive. Damianos as well.”

“What do you need?” Berenger says, again. He doesn’t bother mentioning how illegal everything Laurent has done is.

“A ship that can travel the distance. This is the furthest mine can get me.”

“You can’t buy one?”

“No,” Laurent says. He pauses. “My connections were very expensive. I now have all the information I need, and none of the resources.”

Berenger sighs. He doesn’t look at Ancel. “Okay,” he says. “Get whatever possessions you need and then come board my ship. I’ll have to get a couple of things in order, but we should be able to set off soon.”

Laurent is very hard to read, but Berenger can see the way his shoulders lower slightly. He hadn’t expected Berenger to agree. He must really be desperate.

“Thank you,” Laurent says. It sounds heartfelt. “I won’t be long.”

 

-

Ancel and Berenger don’t speak until they’re back on the ship, Ancel following him to his rooms.

“What does this mean for us?” Ancel says.

Berenger sighs. “I’ll pay out the rest out your contract,” he says. “But I’m going to have to arrange transport to send you back to Radel - or wherever else you want to go.”

“Right,” Ancel crosses his arms. He won’t look at Berenger. “So, your old boyfriend or whatever shows up and you don’t need me anymore. Fine. That’s fine.”

“What.” Berenger doesn’t know what expression he’s making, but he thinks appalled is a safe bet. “No, I barely know Laurent. I just like his politics.”

“You’re helping him illegally travel to some unknown planet because you like his  _ politics _ ?” Ancel is skeptical.

“It’s the right thing to do,” Berenger agrees. 

“All right,” Ancel says, slowly. “So if he’s not your ex, then take me with you. Our contract isn’t over.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why?” Ancel demands. He looks about one second away from stomping his foot.

“It’s too dangerous.”

“Life is dangerous,” Ancel says. “Any of us could die at any moment. I’m coming with you.”

“You’re not.”

“ _ You’re not _ the boss of me.”

“Except,” Berenger says, because it’s a fact he’s been painfully reminding himself of this entire time. “I kind of am.”

“Fuck you!” Ancel steps up to him, his ruby coloured head almost reaching Berenger’s chin. He looks irate. “You keep talking about doing the right thing, and morality and all that bullshit - but this isn’t fair! It isn’t right that you can just- just fucking appear and be all boring and nice and make me feel-! You can’t just toss me aside like I’m nothing. How can I go back when I feel like this? You’ve ruined me.  _ You’ve ruined me _ .”

“I…” Berenger says. He thinks his heart has stopped. “Is this real?”

Ancel makes a sound not unlike a sob and turns away. “Forget it,” he says. “I’ll look after myself. I always have.”

He takes a step towards the door and Berenger panics, grabs him by the arm and pulls him back. “No,” he says. “Is this real? Do you actually want…?”

Ancel looks up at him. His eyelashes are long and wet, and he has the most serious expression that Berenger has ever seen on that pretty face. “Yes,” he bites out. “I know you don’t, but just give me time. I just need time and I promise I can make you want me. I can be better. I can change.”

“You don’t have to change,” Berenger says. He feels like he’s stuck in a vacuum, he’s very aware of his pounding heart, and the way he can’t quite hear himself. “I do want you. I just, consensually speaking-”

“Consensually!” Ancel repeats, sounding a little hysterical. “I’ve been trying to get in your pants this whole time, even though you’ve made it explicit that that’s not what you’re paying me for.”

“Oh,” Berenger says, softly.

“You’re an idiot!” Ancel says, which isn’t true - Berenger amassed all his wealth through scientific endeavours, he’s actually objectively quite intelligent - but then Ancel is kissing him and maybe he  _ is  _ an idiot, because he could have been having this for quite some time already apparently.

“Take me with you,” Ancel says.

“It’s still dangerous,” Berenger replies. 

“Good. I like that.”

“This is a bad idea.”

“No,” Ancel says, pressing his lips along Berenger’s jaw. “Letting me go is the only bad idea.”

He really can’t argue with that.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Arabella by Arctic Monkeys. Find me at [@Nikanndros](https://nikanndros.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


End file.
